tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-85383245602676043332024-03-13T02:15:41.788+00:00Guano Forks' blog of goals, corners and professional foulsGuano Forks' blog of goals, corners and professional foulsguanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.comBlogger25125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-8365018644729940932007-03-14T17:09:00.000+00:002007-03-14T17:18:05.372+00:00Back In The UKI've been away out of the country in my other (paying) guise as a telecommunications engineer. Lots of things I want to write about, but I haven't got time.<br /><br />Briefly: Pierce is still the best man at City. I care not a bit of Lampard buggers off to Spain so long as Mourinho stays. The Premiership would be a sadder place without him. Calling a referee a 'son of a whore' is a compliment compared with some of things I've heard on the football pitch. Delighted for Blackburn to get through to the semi finals of the FA Cup, and the Champions League draw makes for an exciting few matches. Benitez's rotation policy is beginning to look extremely wise compared with United's run of injuries. And, finally, Wembley is now finished. I'm going to reserve any judgement until I've seen it and experienced the atmosphere at a full England international.<br /><br />Anyway, good to be back in Blighty. That rich foreign food plays hell with my digestion.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-16334322831293271112007-03-08T14:39:00.000+00:002007-03-08T14:41:58.323+00:00Colours<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RfAgn_64kgI/AAAAAAAAADM/3XNUck3JCgw/s1600-h/yellow.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp1.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RfAgn_64kgI/AAAAAAAAADM/3XNUck3JCgw/s400/yellow.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5039563854572982786" border="0" /></a>Look here chaps, I’ve had a headache for two days, not all of which can be attributed to a hangover or the effects of the flu that kept me indoors over the weekend. I still think most of my splitting headache is what comes of watching the Liverpool - Barcelona match on a big screen. Luminous yellow is not a team strip. I say it’s an advantage.<br /><br />I’ve thought this last year, watching them beat Chelsea. Chelsea’s blue strip must give them no advantage, assuming that it blends in well with the background colours. In contrast, no other team has such a high visibility strip as last year’s European champions. Has nobody asked if it’s totally within the rules of the game? Does nobody but one old football pundit think it’s much of an advantage?<br /><br />Yet consider the facts. Teams are often forced to change strips to prevent too close a clash with their opponents. In the modern game with advertising forming so much of the background, some kits are certain to stand out better or worse. And surely the colour of a teammate’s shirt can give an advantage. Barcelona have a strip that ensures that any player can easily pinpoint his teammates. Even seen in the corner of their eye, they’d spot that bright yellow strip.<br /><br />I’m not saying that they aren’t a team of great players but surely there has to be a limit to how bright a team’s strip is. Okay. Enough said. I’ve come out of my hangover long enough to type this and I can type no more. Now won’t somebody pass me the paracetamol?guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-86584172781342087612007-03-05T15:27:00.000+00:002007-03-05T15:29:50.177+00:00Guns At KnifefightsThere’s a well known warning against bringing a knife to a gunfight. I was reminded of this sagely advice twice over the weekend.<br /><br />On the first occasion, Liverpool’s impotent strike force were made to look even more inadequate by a John O’Shea late goal that have a woeful Man Utd an underserved win at Anfield. The second time I thought about knives was yesterday when West Ham managed to defy all reason and lose a game in which they had gone in at half time with a 2-0 lead gifted to them by Carlos Tevez.<br /><br />Everybody praises United for their play this year but what Alex Ferguson seems to have instilled into them is a mentality that breeds goals. Other teams pitch up with players who look sharp from front to back only to find their opposition getting down to understated business with the simplicity of the gun, or at least a hard right foot.<br /><br />Menzies Campbell’s knife lost its blade about six months ago and he’s been searching for it under the bed, behind the sofa, and in his greenhouse where he was using it to prepare some trellis for this year’s runner beans. Or so it would seem. It is one of politic’s saddest sights to see the once able deputy struggling to even bring a knife to a knife fight. It again reminds me how much politics (like football) is a game won by strikers. The party has not shifted or changed that radically since Kennedy was in charge. No party can ever change its core beliefs that much, no matter how much David Cameron wants to suggest otherwise. Yet if the party has not changed, then it shows how much the public’s wish to vote for the Lib Dems was have been heavily invested in something as fickle as the leader.<br /><br />Blair has a supreme right foot, and Cameron is showing that he can occasionally get one in the corner of the net. Like the Premiership season for Liverpool and West Ham, the future political landscape will be decided long before the Lib Dems see their way clear to buying themselves a proper centre forward.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-45561087615213043552007-03-04T03:05:00.000+00:002007-03-04T03:09:57.499+00:00The Significance of the InsignificantYou know, chaps, football is a funny old game and I’ve been wearing the knee length socks for far too long to have me start believing all the hype.<br /><br />The experts would have you believe that this weekend has been the most crucial of the season so far. United have supposedly made the Premiership title a certainty by beating Liverpool at Anfield. I’m not so sure. Big games rarely produce big results. The key results will come in the next few weeks as United play the smaller teams they are expected to beat. That's when we might see them falter. I can't help but suspect that it’s the mid-table teams that bring title-chasing teams down and it’s victories in games like their lucky victory at Fulham last week that will eventually decide United’s fate.<br /><br />We should also look for other people’s fates in odd places. If the bells aren’t tolling for the government, then the bell ringer is spitting in his hands and preparing to pull his ropes. The government is hanging on by the thickness of an injunction, but I still don’t believe that something as big as a criminal proceeding will eventually bring them down. My instincts tell me that this government will be defeated from within, by those small shifts of power than go unperceived on the surface but eventually cause huge ructions in destabilising the body. Labour’s defeat will come from one of two places; either at the ballot box when an uncharismatic party leader fails to capture the imagination of the electorate, or from the old guard reasserting the values of old Labour. The Labour Party is full of too much tension to maintain any harmony for too long.<br /><br />In politics as well as football, big results are usually found in insignificant places. Perhaps I’m wrong and this government will go down in flames within the week but I feel tonight that the really significant things are usually found in the insignificant and that neither of the Premierships can be considered over.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-1641446716636257612007-03-01T13:29:00.000+00:002007-03-01T13:33:33.981+00:00Brown Gets Blattered<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RebVxv6JfNI/AAAAAAAAAC8/h_4lzsPShEs/s1600-h/blatter2.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 200px;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RebVxv6JfNI/AAAAAAAAAC8/h_4lzsPShEs/s320/blatter2.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036948283911142610" border="0" /></a>Expectations continued to crumble as Arsenal fell to the luckwarm might of Blackburn Rovers in the FA Cup last night. Arsenal have been my team of the season, playing expansive football that leaves the crowd breathless. Yet it’s not been about victories as much as it’s been about Wenger playing a long term strategic game.<br /><br />Arsene Wenger must have read the old Arabic proverb about the blow that doesn’t kill you making you stronger. Each one of these failures helps to temper a side which already has fantastic resilience matched by penetrative play able to slice open the defences of any team. Occasionally they youngsters overplay the ball, try one of two touches too many when a more mature side would take the chance of a strike on goal. But every time Arsenal take to the field we have to set the game in a bigger context. They are a team of young players who are now learning to lose. In a year or two, they will have mastered winning and they will be unstoppable.<br /><br />The same cannot be said for Gordon Brown who is weakened by each phase of this phony war. You can imagine how it made me smile to see Sepp Blatter in Downing Street yesterday, playing his usual spoiling tactics.<br /><br />This time Blatter was downplaying England’s chances of hosting a World Cup in favour of more worthwhile nations like the USA and China. Blatter brings an intractable European quality to negotiations. He appears on the scene like an ogre set on smashing the English game with his club. Yesterday, it was Brown that felt the weight of the Blatter bash. Every day that Tony Blair remains in office, Brown’s magic is dissipated. He no longer looks like the shoe-in. Stronger candidates will emerge once a leadership campaign begins. We saw this with the Tories. We’ll see the same with Labour. And if you want to put money on who will win, there’s only one possible winner. Put your money on Blatter. He knows how to play real hardball politics.<br /><br />Nobody plays cooler or meaner game than the current President of FIFA.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-61052171098631182712007-02-28T14:33:00.000+00:002007-02-28T14:41:29.958+00:00Hubris<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/ReWS__6JfLI/AAAAAAAAACo/rzhGtg8nbyk/s1600-h/hubris.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/ReWS__6JfLI/AAAAAAAAACo/rzhGtg8nbyk/s320/hubris.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5036593386468506802" border="0" /></a>As any professional footballer knows, when you reach your peak, you happen to be at your most vulnerable. When your body works at its optimum, you tend not to notice the small signs that should warn you to take care. You ignore the muscle tweaks that hint at something more serious in the future. And then, when your crowd roars you on, you make a turn just a little too quickly, you go over on your knee and your anterior ligament gives way. We call this hubris or excessive confidence in one’s own powers. You fly too close to the sun and your wings melt.<br /><br />Teams can also suffer the same condition. They weaken once they begin to take their superiority for granted. History teaches us that it happens to all the great civilisations and that decadence is born in strength. We saw it last night after Manchester United put three past Reading within the first six minutes. It looked like it would be a drubbing in the classical sense. Only, the truism about our finding weakness in strength again came true. Reading dominated the rest of the match, making the Premiership’s top team look poorly organised and lacking discipline. The late introduction of Wayne Rooney and Cristian Ronaldo introduced a little structure into United’s formation and eventually won them the match, although not until Reading came close to equalising in the final minute with the ball coming back off the bar.<br /><br />After the match, I finally got around to watching the first part of ‘Blair: The Inside Story’, Michael Cockerell's documentary about the Blair years. It too reminded me that we often fail because we succeed. It also reminded me that unlike Margaret Thatcher, whose fall from office came about through her own slow passage towards hubris, so much of what Blair has done (and failed to do) came about because he appeared and acted invulnerable from the very moment he entered Downing Street. With Blair, the messianic swagger that we all now notice and mock was once less comic and far more interesting than it has become. It left him prone to the most enormous gaffs, such as the Millennium Dome project.<br /><br />In John Major’s plan, the Dome was originally meant to be little more than a trade show; a new version of the Great Exhibition, showing the world the strength and variety of British Industry. Blair, the popularist politician, had to change it into an event ‘for the people’. He had the common touch and knew what people wanted. Or so he thought. The eventual failure of the Dome was rooted in the success of a Prime Minister confident in his own powers. Blair flew too close to the sun and even if his wings didn’t melt completely, they sagged considerably.<br /><br />What Cockerell's documentary reminded me was that Blair is the Manchester United of politicians, displaying glimpses of greatness and ordinariness in equal measure. This is nowhere more apparent in the moments when Cockerell presents Blair as the male version of the late Princess of Wales. He captured the mood of the moment, conveying the despair of the nation, and yet this moment of perceived sincerity only led him to other acts seen as crass, manipulated, and glib. The shy looks to camera, his belief in his contact with ordinary people, the claim that ‘I’m a stand up guy’: Blair craved justification almost as much as Diana craved the acknowledgement that she was the wronged woman. He relied too heavily on the performance of personality over the performance of policy. Diana too became the victim of her own success, whether it was her increasing alienated within thHubrise royal family because of her popular appeal, or making high speed chases through Paris because of the demands of the media that obsessed over her.<br /><br />Cockerell presented those early years of Blair’s government in terms that I can only put into footballing terms. Even moreso than Man Utd, Tony Blair’s governments resemble the pantomime of Real Madrid. So often it has had the chance to do something very great, only to end in the mundane bickering of enormous egos. It also convinced me that football may be a wonderful guide to the theory of hubris but for its practical application you have to look to the politicians among whom Tony Blair is its master practitioner.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-2988270941895130902007-02-27T13:52:00.000+00:002007-02-27T13:56:55.765+00:00Down DaysThese are the down days, the days between games when players train and pundits wander the streets, bother the homeless, pester the vagrant, and look for something to do.<br /><br />They kicked me out of the library this morning when I got into an argument about video technology with a bundle of rags that smelled vaguely of marker pens. Inside them was wrapped a drunken swine who wouldn’t accept that it would break up the flow of the game. I had to teach him a lesson or two with a hardback edition of the Rules of Association Football and that's when they decided to invite me to leave the library.<br /><br />Drink, occasional violence, and disorderly conduct are getting old. I’ve considered taking up some more vices but vice seems to be on the way out among those in the know. Abstinence is the new drug. I’m thinking of taking it up in a serious way. I want to get seriously abstinent, despairingly sober, and decadently clean. The only way to go in the current climate is to be depraved in your abstinence. Those who want to give up the most excessive lifestyles do so excessively. Britney Spears has demanded the whole wing of her rehab clinic, which is undoubtedly the kind of behaviour that got her in there in the first place. Heather Mills McCartney is also giving up disability, or that’s according to some disabled-rights campaigners here in the UK. Because she’s stomping around the dance floor for some American TV show they argue that she must be able bodied. Well I can’t dance, does this make me disabled? If it does, I should look to give it up immediately by learning to dance.<br /><br />Which has nothing to do with football and even less to do with politics.<br /><br />But these are the down days and I’m going to see if I can sneak back into the library this afternoon.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-22939668253356989972007-02-26T13:23:00.000+00:002007-02-26T13:33:37.982+00:00Forgivefulness<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/ReLhCv6JfKI/AAAAAAAAACc/HmdJCXV3Pak/s1600-h/fight.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/ReLhCv6JfKI/AAAAAAAAACc/HmdJCXV3Pak/s320/fight.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035834770689981602" border="0" /></a>A lot of things have been said and done. We won’t go into that now. It was a Premiership weekend. We expect mistakes to be made. We also had the League Cup final which made it like drinking Red Bull when you’ve already been on the espressos all week. Everything becomes unreal. Feet were raised. Tempers flared. Very little sleep was had. Except, of course, by John Terry, who decided to put his head down inside the penalty box during the second half. But we forgive him that too. We need to forgive everyone and move on.<br /><br />In this new spirit of forgiveness, I’m willing to accept that I was wrong. And I say this without the fear that you’ll want me to cover your bets. We’re in a forgiving mood. So, I was wrong and I don’t want you ever take another tip I might give you in the future about our wonderful game. Only a day or so ago, I was telling you that Arsenal would win the League Cup. But by now, I’m sure you’ve calmed down. You’ll have had time to check yourself out of hospital, headache raging. It’s no worse than mine. Defeat is worse than caffeine. It’s worse than any drug I know. The effects last for weeks.<br /><br />What can I say? I can’t be right all the time and Arsenal definitely had the beating of the champions. Their youngsters won something greater on the day: the knowledge they can challenge any team if only they can keep their cool and win a few lucky decisions. In the end it came down to one appeal for offside. But consider it again. Arsenal might have won. They should have won. Which is frightening. Frightening when Arsenal's second team can match the most expensive players in the most expensive league.<br /><br />It’s doesn’t come as a surprise to me. I was wrong because I’m an idealist. I believe that the better football on the day will always win out. I remember watching Chelsea defeat Liverpool last year. On the day, Liverpool deserved to win. Yet Chelsea won through a sublime goal and Liverpool failed because they lacked even a competent striker. The parallel between politics and football is so evident. The best players, the better play, and the better tactics do not always bring success. The better campaign does not always lead to a win. I’m reminded of the last election when the Tories would have had the beating of the Labour Party if only they’d had a striker who could get the ball into an open goal. They’ve revamped their front line, now, though their choices were odd. Does anybody really think that David Davies was a weaker candidate than David Cameron? Yet at the same time, Gordon Brown looks like a shoe-in to take the reins of the Labour Party when better candidates surround him. Brown will probably become leaders, and Davies obviously remains a deputy.<br /><br />I should learn not to gamble on neither football nor politics. They only leave me with regrets and headaches come Monday morning.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-66173076624518381472007-02-25T17:16:00.000+00:002007-02-25T17:17:06.980+00:00Chelsea Win Carling CupOh bugger...guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-43681423044558764722007-02-25T01:11:00.000+00:002007-02-25T01:25:22.828+00:00A Quizzical Eyebrow<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/ReDia_6JfJI/AAAAAAAAACQ/UFHBB0GNVAs/s1600-h/dickinson.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/ReDia_6JfJI/AAAAAAAAACQ/UFHBB0GNVAs/s320/dickinson.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5035273336860015762" border="0" /></a>Look here, chaps. I’ve had an unproductive day so don’t expect too much expert analysis tonight. I've never been one of those pundits who have the stamina of a Gary Lineker. I'm much more likely to measure myself against the true greats of the game: Mr. Tony Gubba and Mr. Stuart Hall.<br /><br />No doubt Lineker has watched the lot but I’ve only managed to see four matches today and those were the games between Man Utd and Fulham, Charlon and West Ham, Everton and Watford, and, just now, the replay of Liverpool and Sheffield United. I could have watched more. Thanks to Sky replaying them all through the night, I might even watch more. But I can’t help but feel that it’s been a day that has only reminded me of the things about the modern game that disappoint me continually.<br /><br />Am I the only one to grow tired of Neil Warnock’s perpetual complaint that ‘referees just haven’t played the game, they just don’t understand it’? I know I'm not the only one who tires of Man Utd maintaining their lead in the league table, which does nothing to add drama to the end of the season. Yet, sadly, I seem to be one of the very who who lament when I see our beautiful game becoming the medium for the advertiser’s messages.<br /><br />It shocked me to see that video advertising hoardings have made it to Craven Cottage. A club that still has no player's tunnel and instead has the teams line up in the car park have spent a fortune to buy themselves the most pernicious evil in the modern game. Give me a team of diving Portuguese rather than these video ads. I find then off putting and I imagine the players do too. Today in size 400 fonts a bookmaker was quoting odds of 9/2 for Rooney to score first. How could this have made the poor lad feel? Does it add to the pressure or does it give him a false sense of optimism. Surely when he sees it, it affects him in some way, doesn’t it? [Update: I take one reader's point that I'm assuming that the players can read...]<br /><br />Speaking of diving Portuguese, today I finally realised who Cristiano Ronaldo looks like. It’s David Dickinson, he of antiques fame. The boy’s the spitting image of the young Duke. Give it a few years and I think the two will be indistinguishable, though worringly, I feel like he’s looking more like Danny La Rue each time I see him. I think it's the plucked eyebrows.<br /><br />Mr. Forks is definately a fan of the unplucked eyebrow.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-10337004755663623012007-02-24T02:11:00.000+00:002007-02-24T02:16:16.024+00:00From Blair to Beckham<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rd-e2f6JfII/AAAAAAAAACE/f9riGRNzC2M/s1600-h/blair.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rd-e2f6JfII/AAAAAAAAACE/f9riGRNzC2M/s320/blair.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034917567539018882" border="0" /></a>I dragged my hangover around London today. For some years now I’ve abandoned the strict regimen of the athlete and have adopted the no less strict habits of the journalist. Such is my dedication to that lifestyle, it barely gives me time to write. Today, I had to sneak into one of my favourite watering holes to temper my head with a dram or two. That’s where I met up with Des ‘Nobbler’ McGann who used to work with me back when I started to write my columns for Fleet Street. He’s a drunken old sod but knows the English game as well as anybody.<br /><br />We both shared an afternoon drink, comfortably nurturing that unmistakable excitement which starts to build on a Friday afternoon before a Premiership weekend. I feel not unlike a bride before a wedding night, expectantly brushing down the beard on her chin and keeping her studs tightened in her boots. It’s the Friday before a Premiership weekend and I’m still not recovered from the midweek European action. Old Nobbler told me to put my money on Arsenal to win the Carling Cup on Sunday and I told him that it was no great prediction. Anybody can see that Chelsea are a team running on luck and they barely deserve their second place in the table. Arsenal are playing the best football of the season and are bound to win.<br /><br />In the lull before the weekend’s excitement, I thought I shouldn't bore you with predictions but I should instead try to reply to the few queries I’ve had in my inbox asking me why I would want to write about football and politics.<br /><br />Well, look here chaps. I see it like this. Few things in life put a flame beneath the human spirit in the way that sport and politics do. And there are no sports greater than football for bringing us to a boil. The fumes that rise from boiling pot of talented youth and fading superstars is a heady one. The bubbles break in glorious spectacle. There are few places where you see the tribe’s heroes live and die like you do on the football field. It is a season of politics written within nintety minutes. David Beckham and Tony Blair are no different. They are both reaching the end of their premierships yet still find the occasional surges of energy that deceive us into believing that their skills will never fail them. That’s why I hope that Beckham makes the England team. Like the Labour Party need Blair, England needs Beckham. While their powers are still evident, they deserve the chance to shine.<br /><br />John Terry is no Beckham, but Brown is no Blair. Whatever happens, in politics as well as football, it will be a time before we see their kind again.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-91338419474686160022007-02-23T01:54:00.000+00:002007-02-23T02:07:10.992+00:00Word Games When I'm Drunk...My mind runs my words out of play. I’ve drunk too much. Can barely stand. Can’t find the remote to turn off the TV. The memory of two UEFA Cup matches lingers as much as the words from the news. I can’t escape the news.<br /><br />‘War’s a game.’<br /><br />Or so they said, whoever ‘they’ are. They must know. I wouldn’t talk about something I know nothing about. I suppose ‘they’ feel the same way. And that’s why they say the things they say.<br /><br />They’re the usual sorts. The ex-army types who appear on the news wearing their badly matched shirts and ties, geometric deigns, grid coordinates, haircuts shorter than those of the 1934 FA Cup winning team. They look like farmers. They say that war’s a game for boys who like big toys. Find them on YouTube videos, like 'Match of the Day' replays. See weapons discharge like John Arne Risse’s left foot. The boom of the crowd. The bulge of the net.<br /><br />They talk of the thrill of combat. They talk about experiences that turn boys into men. They say that <a href="http://www.bryanappleyard.com/blog/2007/02/harry-saves-iraq.php">Prince Harry’s going to Iraq</a> and <a href="http://uk.news.yahoo.com/22022007/325/prince-harry-serve-iraq.html">he’s delighted</a>, looking forward to every moment. They say the equipment’s state of the art. They say that the equipment won’t last, there’s not enough of it, that it’s not as good as what the Americans have.<br /><br />They say…<br /><br />I say what has happened to the games we played for fun? What’s happened to this country of ours when a boy doesn’t aspire to the England number 7 shirt? Remember the game lads, ladies? Remember what it means to lose but come back to win again? Don’t confuse the game with war. We mix our words too easily. We speak of victory and loss as though we’ll have another chance in the mid-week replay. There are no career threatening injuries now bar one. The big one. The one that got Bobby Moore, George Best, and all the rest.<br /><br />I’ve never gone to war but I’ve known some pretty terrifying encounters when I was playing the game I love. But it really was only a game. I didn’t know what it was to feel a fear more than that which comes of an ankle injury I thought would keep me out of the game for six months. And I didn’t know the sense of loss any more than the bets that I lost with the unexpected draw.<br /><br />I want to say that politics is a game too but I’ve drunk far too much because it's a night of European football. I’m now running my words to the corner flag. Counting the seconds. Referee's whistle.<br /><br />Yes, politics is a game too, only you know what people say...guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-51427841925867746242007-02-22T15:31:00.000+00:002007-02-22T15:33:41.866+00:00This Wimbledon Folly<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RduZtP6JfGI/AAAAAAAAABs/q0asUbPN5Rs/s1600-h/jp.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RduZtP6JfGI/AAAAAAAAABs/q0asUbPN5Rs/s320/jp.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033786011160247394" border="0" /></a>Look here, chaps, you’ll have to write and tell me if you want listing in my blogroll. As you know, it’s a heavy responsibility being the custodian of the nation’s favourite game. I’ve been very busy lately and this is the first time I’ve had chance to update my list of contacts in far too long.<br /><br />There are so many good blogs out there that I’ve only had chance to list a few of them. It reminds me of every World Cup when I’m asked to list my favourite players. There are just so many to choose from. And the best are not necessarily my favourites. Among the world’s many great goalkeepers, I’d always pick John Prescott (pictured). The man can do things in a goal mouth that I honestly didn’t think possible without half-a-pound of axle grease and a willing civil servant doped up on ether.<br /><br />Looking out on the world of sport today, I’m left baffled to learn that the prize money between the men and women is to be the same at this year’s Wimbledon. I sit here, scratching my chin in utter bewilderment. I can’t for the life of me understand the reasoning behind this move. When the women play five sets, then they will deserve equal money but, call me an old Match of the Day pundit if you wish, it must surely be equal pay for equal work.<br /><br />You know, this reminds me of when Sue Barker first joined the BBC. I said at the time that she couldn’t be paid as much as we male presenters. Why? Well, look here, chaps. Knocking a ball over a net is no way to prepare for life within the BBC sports department. If Sue Barker had ever scored five goals for Fulham away to Doncaster Rovers then she might know how to present a television programme or two. She might make a good presenter one of thee days but not until she’s had her legs raked by a defender's studs on a cold rain-swept afternoon in Newcastle.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-21270708719773618192007-02-22T01:48:00.000+00:002007-02-22T14:39:15.634+00:00By A Whisker<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rdz2lP6JfHI/AAAAAAAAAB4/mSkRZfPRJeM/s1600-h/deco.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rdz2lP6JfHI/AAAAAAAAAB4/mSkRZfPRJeM/s320/deco.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5034169603279387762" border="0" /></a>Mystical forces were at work tonight. They’ve been at work for the last ten years. Biblical forces, such as those that began to give the Labour Party victory when they started to get rid of their chinwhiskers.<br /><br />Alastair Darling and Peter Mandelson first took razor to throat and others followed. There were a few that held out: Charles Clarke, David Blunkett, Margaret Beckett… But there is a truth of political life that maintains that the clean shaven face is more electable than those with a beard or moustache. We now have equity in the shaving stakes. That’s why the sensible money is going on a hung parliament at the next election.<br /><br />Tonight, my lucky bottle of rum ran out at half-time of the Barcelona Liverpool match. I didn’t panic. I knew my bet was safe. I knew that one team would win and I was certain it couldn’t be the home side. You see, there are rules of football like there are rules of life. It’s that same rule as runs in politics. Men who don’t shave stand less of a chance.<br /><br />Barcelona arrived at the ground looking like a team of Mexican banditos heading for the border to rustle themselves some meat before a night with the tavern whores. I’ve never seen a squad of professional footballers look so unshaven. What is it about today’s players that make them avoid the razor? I fancy it’s too much dogging and drinking tequila with IT girls but don’t you think it strange that footballers are always advertising shaving products that so few of them seem to know how to use them? Bobby Charlton never played a match unless he’d had a shave and the same was true for the great Stanley Matthews. I never saw a whisker on his chin.<br /><br />Yet Barcelona seem to have taken their cue from coach Frank Rijkaard whose snake-tressed appearance makes him look like he’s fallen straight from the pages of Greek myth. And before you go saying anything about me, Forks may have a beard but it's well groomed. You could enter my chin into a dog show and it would come away with best of breed. That’s more than can be said about Deco’s chin.<br /><br />Some of these footballers need less time with their WAGs and more time with some WAG – water and Gillette.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-68448182808865254642007-02-21T14:36:00.000+00:002007-02-21T18:55:12.825+00:00Got Up Late, No Fit State To WriteMy mood is foul. I woke up half out of bed, lying sprawled across the remains of last night’s TV dinner, and with my legs tangled around Matthews, my five year old labrador. Everything about last night’s game had dried around my mouth. The anger, the disgust, the despair, the corruption made real. We need weeks like this to remind us who we support when it all comes down to the wire.<br /><br />Tonight we have to make another stand. Are we for the red or are we for the blue? We’re all partisan to one side or the other. Some of us just don’t know it yet. Tonight’s matches in the European Championship marks an important moment in world affairs. Are we for Russia or the USA? Liverpool play the current champions Barcelona, while Chelsea take on FC Porto, the team once managed by their current manager José Mourinho.<br /><br />Anti-American sentiments might make it hard for some of us to support Liverpool now they’re owned by two American billionaies, one a close supporter of George W. But are we really so naive to think that supporting Chelsea is to support good old fashioned football virtues? Roman Abramovich, friend to Putin, or Tom Hicks, friend to Bush? Or do we try to support the little island in the middle? Hard choices. Big outcomes. The world in balance. And that's before we've even put in our bets.<br /><br />But isn’t it this that makes it such an exciting yet funny old game?guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-5326125533909857372007-02-20T20:46:00.000+00:002007-02-20T20:51:02.685+00:00Crazy Transfer Budgets<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rdtecf6JfFI/AAAAAAAAABg/HheWdJRa2sY/s1600-h/prescott.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rdtecf6JfFI/AAAAAAAAABg/HheWdJRa2sY/s320/prescott.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033720852211399762" border="0" /></a>Look here, chaps. This business of transfer budges is <a href="http://politics.guardian.co.uk/deputyleader/story/0,,2017385,00.html">getting all out of hand</a>. John Prescott’s office has been given a 30% more money to do nothing but sit on the bench and hand out the drinks at full time.<br /><br />Of course the government denies that they're paying an extra £600,000 for an average player but they would say that, wouldn’t they? They claim the money has only been transferred from one department to another. But the sort of sums they’re talking about is enough to make a season ticket holder weep!<br /><br />When Sunderland’s start striker Alf Common transferred to Middlesbrough in 1905, the fee was only £1000. Yet when Zidane moved from Juventus to Real Madrid in 2001, it was over £45 million. Compare those prices with the money we’re paying for John Prescott who is nothing but a second rate goalkeeper good with his fists. He wouldn’t be able to spit on my shoes when I was at my best and I was only paid my bus fare when I transferred to Fulham back in 1953.<br /><br />Something smells and it’s not the Tiger Balm muscle rub.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-26290676084144372122007-02-20T01:46:00.000+00:002007-02-20T02:02:34.408+00:00Hands On The Prize<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdpTHv6JfEI/AAAAAAAAABU/Y_VKsa70Zwc/s1600-h/trophy.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10pt 10px 0px; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdpTHv6JfEI/AAAAAAAAABU/Y_VKsa70Zwc/s400/trophy.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033426926124497986" border="0" /></a>Last year when a valiant West Ham were muscled out of a much deserved FA Cup victory by a lucky late Steven Gerrard equaliser, I didn’t expect to ever see such an upset again on these shores. Yet as I keep saying until I go blue in the face, ‘football is a funny old game’. An <a href="http://iaindale.blogspot.com/2007/02/breaking-news-new-poll-gives-massive.html">equally surprising result awaits us</a> at the end of a season when every pundit expected the Labour Party to do so well.<br /><br />Now trailing in the Premiership table behind their big Tory rivals <a href="http://politics.guardian.co.uk/labour/story/0,,2016791,00.html">by thirteen points</a>, the lacklustre Labour team must surely concede that they can only settle for second place. The Conservatives looks unassailable while bottom of the table strugglers, Lib Dems United, continue to face a relegation battle as they continue to blame their aging striker Menzies ‘Nobbler’ Campbell. As an old player myself, I think the criticism is unfair. The team is let down by a midfield that expends a lot of energy but only ever seem to get very muddy in the middle of the pitch. It just won't do. It won't do at all.<br /><br />Meanwhile, Labour Party supporters might still hope that their team do what the Arsenal team achieved in the 1997-98 season. In sixth spot at Christmas, they still managed to win the league title. Yet if such a fightback is to happen, they need to find an alterative to the striking partnership of Tony ‘Gobbler’ Blair and Gordon ‘Robber’ Brown, which has failed to deliver enough goals this season. The service also needs to be improved from a underperforming midfield quartet of Miliband, Reid, Beckett, and Straw, while defensively the team look as weak as ever. John Prescott's ball handling skills are never in question but I do question why he constantly needs to punch everything that comes his way.<br /><br />Come on gentlemen! Not since the days when I hosted <span style="font-style: italic;">Match of the Day </span>have I seen a team work so poorly as a unit and concede so many home goals. Back in 1979, the flamboyant star of the day was James ‘Flash Jimmy’ Callaghan. He used to make some wonderful runs into the box. He had the longer shorts, high socks, and big sideburns so you knew he was a real footballer's footballer. But he lacked stamina for the longer game. When Thatcher (Margaret not Ben) started to send in some of those deep cross field balls, Flash Jimmy’s game fell apart. Foorball changed that year. The old game was so reliant on dominating the midfield, you see? Flash Jimmy just couldn't protect his wings and that's where Thatcher’s pace and fleetness of foot eventually saw the Tories win the Premiership.<br /><br />History is repeating itself. But then, as I'm always saying, until I'm blue in the face. Football is a funny old game.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-45978729601130332152007-02-19T21:05:00.000+00:002007-02-19T21:07:01.684+00:00Blair Doesn't CareNow look here, chaps. Tony Blair must learn to listen to us. It’s no good asking for our advice and then not heeding it. He reminds me of the late great George Best who always thought he was right. But Blair is no Best, let me tell you that one straight.<br /><br />Blair wants to tell us that we’re all wrong to vote against the government’s road pricing proposals. Best always used to try that trick. I remember I’d often see him trying those neat little backheels during his Man Utd days and when they didn’t work, he wouldn’t admit he should have tried something easier.<br /><br />Blair’s not interested in what we think anymore than George thought that a TV pundit might know something more about football. Blair just wants us to admire how he can backheel the ball and as I would have told Besty, playing for UK United is about teamwork. And there are 60 million other players on the pitch.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-45440872066545727572007-02-19T01:37:00.000+00:002007-02-19T02:43:43.033+00:00Monday Caption Competition<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rdj_lP6JfCI/AAAAAAAAAA8/tc2v9k8JCK0/s1600-h/monday.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/Rdj_lP6JfCI/AAAAAAAAAA8/tc2v9k8JCK0/s400/monday.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033053598977195042" border="0" /></a>guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-68428443883430269462007-02-19T01:27:00.000+00:002007-02-19T01:32:52.169+00:00The Smith Ins-tit-uteUPDATE: My sources inside the FA have now confirmed that Gordon Brown has been taking advice from the Anna Nichole Smith Institute and has invited them inside Downing Street. I've been told that Brown will soon be seen wearing a specially constructed push-up bra.<br /><br />As you know, the Smith Institute is big on cleavage and Brown hopes that a plunging neckline will help him at the next election. We’ve yet to see if other members of the cabinet will decide to enter the race but those close to Brown are worried that Precott will make a late bid. I’ve been told that if Prescott decides to take part in the leadership race, Gordon’s moobies will pale into insignificance next to those of the man they call 'Two Jugs’.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-35053879249076934062007-02-18T16:55:00.000+00:002007-02-18T17:02:42.972+00:00Des Lynam R.I.P., the Tash Lives<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdiFl_6JfBI/AAAAAAAAAAw/N924O00NYVw/s1600-h/thetash.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 10px 10px 0pt; float: left; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdiFl_6JfBI/AAAAAAAAAAw/N924O00NYVw/s400/thetash.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5032919471443508242" border="0" /></a>The showdown has led to a gracious climb down. Des Lynam’s bicycle visit to The Tash has convinced him that the poor chap had suffered enough. The Tash’s blog lives on and it is still a homage to Des Lynam.<br /><br />To my less regular readers, the whole thing came to a head the other day when The Tash looked out of his living room window and saw the real Des Lynam riding up the path on his bike.<br /><br />He couldn’t believe it was Des Lynam at first and wondered if he’s acquired a stalker that looked like Des Lynam. It turned out that it really was Des Lynam who had come to have it out with The Tash.<br /><br />The Tash wants to make it clear that he’s always been a fan of the real Des Lynam and his moustache and in order to bring peace, he’s agreed to stop calling himself Des Lynam and call himself The Tash. The real Des Lynam can carry on using his real name with no danger of confusion. I suppose The Tash can now expect to get bloody legal notices from Des's moustache!guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-25792983392578847782007-02-15T20:33:00.000+00:002007-02-19T02:00:08.371+00:00Combover Here<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdkEKv6JfDI/AAAAAAAAABI/SKQLalZRQtQ/s1600-h/charlton.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp2.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdkEKv6JfDI/AAAAAAAAABI/SKQLalZRQtQ/s400/charlton.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5033058641268800562" border="0" /></a>There was a time when Bobby Charlton was part of Blair's Cool Britannia. Those were the days when Blair had big ideas about getting rid of penalty shoot outs, all seater stadiums, and the transfer window. That was then and this is now.<br /><br />"When the Labour Party got in it was all about jumpers for goalposts and yet 10 years down the line there's people saying that footballers are better off in Spain... I don't really think there's anything left to vote for. That's why people don't vote...” says the ex-Manchester United front man.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-33466430247654906072007-02-13T20:40:00.001+00:002007-02-18T17:13:28.792+00:00The Evil That Men Do<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdIn6egaojI/AAAAAAAAAAk/WKOmrEoImuk/s1600-h/ladder.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp3.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdIn6egaojI/AAAAAAAAAAk/WKOmrEoImuk/s400/ladder.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031127619301188146" border="0" /></a>Now, come on, chaps. I mean listen here! I’m not about to sit around while my name’s being bandied about like this. I remember sitting in the dugout watching the 1972 friendly match between Celtic and Hamilton Academicals when somebody shouted something offensive to me from the crowd.<br /><br />‘Oy, Forks!’ they shouted. ‘Your brand of popular gossip-mongering is going to be the death of blogging as we know it in the UK!’<br /><br />‘Blogging?’ thinks I. ‘What know I of this blogging?’<br /><br />I turned to my most excellent friend, Stanley ‘Nobbler’ Watson, and said, ‘Hey, Nobbler, what’s blogging?’<br /><br />Well he chewed his lip a bit and said, ‘I’d imagine it’s not unlike that dogging you hear so much about.’<br /><br />‘Dogging?’ I asked.<br /><br />He smiled. ‘It will become very big in the world of professional football,’ he said. ‘Mark my words.’<br /><br />‘And I did.’<br /><br />I marked them very well, which is more than I can say about poor Stanley. He knew nothing about blogging but died taking part in some dogging of his own. Got crushed by a truck that backed suddenly over his stepladder.<br /><br />I digress.<br /><br />Listen here. I’m not the worse thing out here on the web, you know?<br /><br />I’m just the most popular and I ask you not to hold that against me.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-33036007215797591842007-02-12T20:31:00.000+00:002007-02-18T17:13:59.299+00:00World Cup 2018<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdIhHugaoiI/AAAAAAAAAAY/WkBfsL8EEdw/s1600-h/worldcup.jpg"><img style="margin: 0pt 0pt 10px 10px; float: right; cursor: pointer;" src="http://bp0.blogger.com/_NWi7oYjs3zo/RdIhHugaoiI/AAAAAAAAAAY/WkBfsL8EEdw/s400/worldcup.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5031120150353060386" border="0" /></a>I can tell you that Gordon ‘Nobby’ Brown is supporting the bid by this wonderful nation of ours for the 2018 World Cup. It reminds me of when Preston North End beat Huddersfield Town 1-0 in extra time to win the 1938 FA Cup semi-final, I remember turning to my good friend, Albert ‘Kneecaps’ Stouthers and saying to him, ‘Albert, I do hope I’m around to see the World Cup come to England again in 2018’.<br /><br />‘Again?’ he said. ‘What do mean by that, Guano, old boy?’<br /><br />‘Well, Albert,’ I said, looking at him knowingly. ‘I predict that we’ll have the World Cup in 1966 and that we’ll win it.’<br /><br />‘By strewth!’ said Albert, who true to his nickname, fell to his knees in amazement. ‘We’ll win the world cup?’<br /><br />‘We will indeed,’ I told him. ‘But not before we've fought another World War. I’ve been told as much by those in the know.’<br /><br />And you know the rest.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8538324560267604333.post-25295394350349266642007-02-10T14:32:00.000+00:002007-02-18T17:14:24.928+00:00Why This Blog DisappearedI deleted this blog yesterday because I was just about fed up with all the negative attention I’ve been getting from certain quarters. When I presented Match of the Day for ten years without a break, I didn’t half as much stick as I’m getting from writing this website. In the last week, I’ve been accused of everything except being the country’s most widely read blogger. I can’t help it if people want to come here and enjoy reading about the scandalous goings on inside English football.<br /><br />So, I want you to listen here, chaps. When Tottenham Hotspur beat Leicester City 2-0 in the 1961 FA Cup semi-final, there was nobody around to defend them against accusations of putting eleven men behind the ball. I was in the stands watching the match and I turned to my old friend Bobby ‘Nobby’ Gobbling and told him to clear off if he was going to support that kind of negative play.<br /><br />And I’m here to make the same defence.<br /><br />If you don’t like what I do them just clear naffing off, will you!<br /><br />Give the rest of us a chance.guanoforkshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12735589776915228556noreply@blogger.com0